


Just a Little Too Far

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets back at Sherlock for the stunt he pulled at Baskerville. Things get a little out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Too Far

John was well past the point of being pissed off. Sherlock was constantly using him for experiments and the HOUND was just too far. It was nothing but an awful joke, though the man insisted it was for 'knowledge'. It was time to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine and he was not going to give in so easily. His first three attempts had been less than successful. Sherlock didn't even seem to notice them, just absently walked around them in the way only Sherlock could do.

It was very frustrating. So John called in reinforcements. All of them. It started with Mycroft, who was surprisingly easy to convince. John had an idea why, too. The Holmes were incredibly brilliant and super intelligent, but they were still brothers after all. Then Lestrade, who was more than happy to be able to best Sherlock in anything. Molly was more than happy to live out her fantasy even if just for a little while. Anderson and Donovan somehow managed to get involved, and before he knew it, John had blown things way out of proportion. 

It had began as a way to show Sherlock it wasn't fun to be frightened and spook him a little. It ended as a full blown revenge scheme. Of course, John had brushed off his worries with his usual self argument of 'it's Sherlock Holmes. He'll be fine'.

Mrs. Hudson had assisted a little, by bringing Sherlock some tea before bed. Sherlock had taken it without a care and sipped on the tea until the drowsy feeling of the medication took over and he dragged himself off to bed. He'd never been a heavy sleeper, John knew, and required a little extra push to get him to stay asleep. Anderson and Lestrade helped him move Sherlock out of the house and drive him to the abandon building waiting for them. To be honest, with Mycroft's help, they'd done a fantastic job. It really did look like Sherlock had been living there for months, down to the indentation in the mattress.  
They settled him into the bed and left.

When Sherlock awoke he instantly knew he wasn't in his room. His ceiling was not pink. Nor were his walls. And this bed was far larger than his own. He sat up in mild confusion, examining the blanket placed over him. Silk? He sniffed it. It smelled like his blanket. He glanced to the empty spot beside him, already made up neat though he was still sleeping, then to the side table filled with feminine things. Was that a picture of him and Molly? Getting married? He nearly threw himself over the bed to examine the photo. It was fake. It had to be fake. It wasn't.

He hurriedly jumped out of the bed before realizing that these were not the clothes he'd fallen asleep in. Sherlock yanked open the drawers, finding them full of his things and more feminine things; Molly's. He hurried out the room in hopes that it would be his living room and was met with Molly cooking away in the little kitchen. Sherlock had never seen this house in his life!

"Sherlock! Glad to see you're awake." Molly smiled, skittering towards him and pulling him down by his shirt collar to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I-"

"I'm making bacon and biscuits just how you like." She popped his nose with her index finger and smiled pleasantly.

"Molly, kidnapping a consulting detective is a serious crime," Sherlock demanded. She only laughed.

"There's no such thing as a consulting detective. Come now. You need to get dressed. You'll be late for work. Houses don't paint themselves." Molly and her little polka-dotted apron returned to the kitchen. Sherlock stumbled back a step and took in the rest of the small home. His skin jumped when he spotted the stranger on the couch.

"Donavon?" The woman didn't answer, mildly interested in the tv. 

"Sally?" Sherlock tried again. This time she looked toward him.

"Yeah dad?" she responded curiously. Sherlock Holmes was not a father! He doubted he was even old enough to be her father! She was at least forty!

"Are you okay? You don't look too well?" Oh god, she actually sounded worried about him. Panic was setting in. Someone had slipped him something. That was the only way this could be happening. Someone had given him something and he was dreaming. This is why Sherlock didn't like to dream. He had a solution, though! Since he was aware he was dreaming, he could move things in his direction. John. John would help him clear his mind. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

Sherlock rushed for it.

"John!"

"What? No. It's me, your future son-in-law." Anderson reminded him as if it was common knowledge. Sherlock was near the point of hyperventilating.

"Are you feeling okay, Mr. Holmes?" And now Anderson was concerned about him. He must have fallen into a parallel universe. Panic fogged his mind which only succeeded in making Sherlock panic more. Was his whole life a lie? A dream? Oh god.

"Mycroft!"

"I think Mycroft's coming, dear. Even though you acted just plain awful last weekend at dinner. Just because he's a little different doesn't mean you had to go and call him a pounce," Molly scolded, taking him by the shoulder and leading him to the little kitchen table. Donovan and Anderson joined around and Molly plated a bit of food for all of them.  
"And- and John?"

"John who? I don't think we know any Johns." Molly frowned in worry, placing a hand on his head. Sherlock jerked away like a child, nearly knocking himself out of the chair. Anderson quickly stopped him though, which only made Sherlock jerk in the opposite way.

"John Watson! Doctor John Watson!" he shouted, making her draw back.

"Calm down, now, Sherlock. You did hit your head pretty hard yesterday." Molly approached him again, touching the back of his head. Sherlock didn't feel any pain.

"That paint can got you good. Maybe we should have taken him to the hospital," Sally murmured.

"You know your father wouldn't be caught dead in a hospital." Molly frowned.

"You just need some more rest. I'll call your work and let them know you won't be there. I don't think they'll miss you for a little while. That'll give us more time for our anniversary, too,” she purred pleasantly, giving him a small kiss on the temple.

"Which reminds me, they delivered the flowers while you were sleeping. I can always trust you to remember special dates." That definitely didn't sound like him! Sherlock would never get married! Women couldn't be trusted! Another knock. Again, Sherlock begged that it was John. It was Mycroft and- Lestrade? He could work with that. His brother would definitely see something wrong.

"Sherlock," he greeted with a small pat on the back. "How are you doing?"

"Mycroft. This isn't real. You know I would never get married!" Sherlock wanted to add 'especially to Molly', but in the very slightest chance that this was real, that would be an awful idea.

"How could I even have a kid! I mean look at her! She doesn't look like either of us! And I'm pretty sure Donavon is older than Molly."

"He's a little disoriented," Molly explained gently, turning back to the kitchen to fill two more plates. Mycroft sat beside him.

"You really don't remember? You adopted Sally during your second year of marriage. I doubt she even remembers her last name from then. She was only a couple months,” he insisted. Even his brother was confused! Sherlock turned to his last chance.

"Lestrade! You have to see that something's wrong," Sherlock insisted desperately.

"Sherlock, you know I changed my name when we got married." Lestrade placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder intimately. "As much as you don't want to believe it, your brother and I are married now. You might as well get use to calling me Greg Holmes." That was that stick that broke Sherlock's sanity.

"Right." He nodded as he attempted to cure his swirling thoughts. "I think I'm going to have an anxiety attack now."

"No, no. You're okay, Sherlock. Deep breaths." Mycroft patted his back softly. Sherlock stiffened at once.

"You're right. I'm okay. I just need some fresh air." He jerked to his feet, knocking over chair as he did so. Stick legs tangle in it as he struggled to get as far away from his 'family' as possible. He darted out of the home and was bewildered to find only part of the hallway looked nice. The rest of it was obviously ready for demolition. He took several steps, trying to straighten out his mind. Then he turned back and poked his head in again as if the scene were to have melted away.

It hadn't. His 'family' looked to him worriedly.

Sherlock ran. He didn't care that he was in pajamas, or that 221b Baker Street might not even exist, his feet took him right home. He struggled with the door before finding that it was locked and he didn't have the key. Then he began to pound away. Mrs. Hudson finally opened the door and he hurried past her without a thought.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Why are you still in your jammies?" He ignored her, hurrying into his flat and spotting John ever so casually enjoying the morning paper.

"Jonh!"

"Sherlock. There you are. You weren't in bed when I got up. I was worried something had happened." The little blonde folded up his paper and turned to him. Sherlock threw himself on the couch and his head into John's lap.

"I was married to Molly! And Donovan was my adopted daughter! Oh god! Mycroft and Lestrade!" he complained loudly. His breathing slowly steadied. The run had left him a little breathless, but most of it was panic. Now that he knew John was still here, that his flat was still here, it was better. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened. It was so real and he obviously had left his home. It had to be some sort of drug. Someone had slipped him something in the night.

"It doesn't feel good to be tricked, does it Sherlock?" John murmured all too pleased with himself. Sherlock sat up instantly.

"That was your doing?"

"With some help, yeah. Maybe now you'll stop using me for your experiments." The look that came over Sherlock's face was one John had never seen before. He looked; hurt.

"That wasn't funny," Sherlock said firmly. "I really thought something was wrong with me."  
"And I really thought I was going to be ripped open by a demon dog."

"This was about that! That was for the case! I needed to know if being introduced to the drug really would make you see a 'devil hound'."

"Which you got wrong anyways by thinking it was in the sugar. Not to mention, that was bloody terrifying for me!"

"And we solved the case! This was just for your own cruel gain!"

"This was to teach you a lesson!" Tension and silence filled the room. Sherlock stared him down viciously and John returned a steel expression. It took John a moment, but when he finally allowed himself to look away from Sherlock's face, he discovered the man's hands still shaking. A little thing, but more than enough.

"You really were scared,” John said gently, though he hardly saw why Sherlock would be so shaken up. Just because he was married to Molly for a little while? Because Donovan and Anderson were actually nice to him?

"Of course I was scared!" Sherlock shouted louder than he actually needed to. "I thought there was something actually wrong with me!" John frowned slightly. "Why would you do that to me?" In any other context, John wouldn't have believed he was serious. But he was. Sherlock was actually hurt. John couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Sherlock,"

"I thought there was something wrong with me," Sherlock repeated, sliding back on the couch and throwing his head back. He covered his eyes for a moment with his hands, still trying to settle his nerves. It hadn't been real none of it had been real. John truly felt bad. Which he thought was bullshit considering what Sherlock had done, but things were never as they should be with Sherlock. He placed a hand on his flat mate's shoulder gently.

"It's okay. You're okay now. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just wanted you to know how awful it is to be 'experimented' on." Sherlock didn't pull away like John expected him to. John patiently sat beside him, gently patting his thigh until the man calmed down and sorted through all of his thoughts. He could tell the man was incredibly upset with him mostly because he hadn't pulled away. After several long minutes, Sherlock rested his head gently on John's shoulder.  
"I'm sorry Sherlock,” he repeated again, patting the brunette head. There was no response for a long time. John was almost sure he'd fallen asleep until he spoke again.

"You know," he began with a steadier voice. "In hindsight. That was well planned and slightly funny,” he grumbled, though he obviously didn't want to admit to it. John smirked.

"But never do that again," Sherlock finished firmly. John patted his head affectionately.

"I'm serious John."

"Yes, Sherlock."


End file.
